Pretty Woman
by Amazingly-Scary-Ear-Spike
Summary: Beca's used to street corners, Jesse's used to money and offices. When they meet, will it be a one night thing or more? Remember, Beca, don't let it get too personal. *Based off the film Pretty Woman*
1. Chapter 1

**Pretty Woman**

**This idea came to me when I was watching Pretty Woman the other day, so obviously, I don't own it. Or Pitch Perfect for that upsetting matter. **

When Beca Mitchell was a young girl, she wanted to be a princess, like most girl's. She'd strut around the house in her mother's too big heels and splatter eyeshadow on and cover her lips with red lipstick, making herself look like a clown. When she was about 10 she grew out of the girly stage, and decided she wanted to be a singer. She loved music. Not like pop songs, you know, stuff in the charts. No. Beca loved the 'alternative' genre of music. Music was her passion, kept her sane. When she was 15, her parents divorced, she changed. Heavy makeup rimmed her blue eyes, black and blue was a favourited colour and her music passion was deeper. She ignored pretty much everyone and she didn't ever give a shit.

She loved heavy bass lines, craved them.

Most girls wanted boys at her age. She wasn't most girls. Now, don't get me wrong, she didn't find them unattractive, but what was the point in a boy? Not after seeing her parents fight, argue and fight. Love wasn't real, didn't exist. That's what her mum told her. Screamed at her down the phone when she told her she had got a date to prom. She lost her virginity that night because what was the point in saving it for someone special when that person special didn't exist.

Just before her 15th birthday, she got her first tattoo. The purple/pink flowers on her shoulder were inked in. She went to a shady little place, with an older man in a calloused leather jacket who took her money and made good work of the body art. She loved it.

On her 16th, she got her favourite quote inked onto her lower back, and the design on her wrist.

She was ink. Black, liquid ink, mysterious, dark and scary.

She had other tattoos, they made her, her. Anyway, she wouldn't have to worry about having to cover them for work because her job included lessening of the clothing.

You see, when Beca Mitchell was 21, she didn't want to see herself on a street corner, taking money for a night with a man. She wanted L.A. for the music, for the producing, for _her. _Not for alleyways, car pickups, shameful money and disgusting, revealing outfits. It wasn't all bad, she had Stacie. Literally, her other half. She was her best friend, sister even. They shared a tiny flat, hell, was it even a flat? Maybe a bedsit. One bed, one cupboard, one everything. The only thing Beca felt was hers' was her record collection. Nobody touched that. Of course, she came to L.A. with other things, clothes, her laptop, music mixer, everything.

She had to sell it.

Not a penny to her name. So, she sold her body. Only in the night, the days were recovering hours. Recovering from the bastard who took her the night before.

Sometimes multiple bastards. She hated it, but it was her only way of getting food, money, and to pay her little rent.

Tonight was boring. Stacie and herself were on another street corner, the lights of L.A. were the only thing keeping the darkness away. She hated the dark. It reminded her of, well, that's not relevant right now.

"So, how much did ya make last night, Bec?" Stacie asked, nudging Beca.

She did the math in her head. $50 of that one man, grubby looking with a lot of scratchy stubble that left marks all over her body and then there was $70 from that other man, he was wealthy, had a nice car, nice suit, not that it was on for long.

"Urm, $120 I think." She nods and crosses hers arms around her chest, the slight chill getting to her.

"You?" She questions Stacie, who grins. Obviously, she did good last night.

"You know that man with the glasses, dark skin," Beca nods, remembering Stacie get in his car, "he gave me a huge tip, and not just money if you know what I mean." She sends Beca a wink, and leans against the wall with a happy sigh.

"I hate this job Bec, but it does have its perks sometimes, and I would have never met you so, you know." Beca's heart melts because the only person Stacie really has, is Beca. They're like sisters.

"I know," she confirms.

"Oooh, looky what we got here," Stacie comments, nodding her head in the direction of the car that has just pulled up. Wow. Beca knew her cars, and this was an expensive freaking car. Stacie grins, "Go get him, girl!". And Beca does just that. She gives Stacie a hug and stalks over to the sleek, black Audi R8, admiring it and the person sitting in the front seat.

She licks her lips, red lips tonight. Poking her head into the rolled down window, Beca's confronted with one sexy man. Probably around her age, maybe a year or two older, but either way, she's glad Stacie gave him to her. His tight fitting suit shows his formal side, but God, does he look good in this suit. Black jacket, crisp white shirt, and a thin black tie. She prefers thin ties to bigger ones, they're sexier, hotter, sexier-er-er-er.

She's chewing gum, she always does. Makes her look more like a slut probably, but it gets rid of the taste of other men. Makes her look like a prostitute but that's what she wants right?

"Hey," she says, her fingers are on the edge of the window. He nods at her, and she rolls her eyes. He's never done this before. He smiles shyly, and she takes in his adorable dimples, the sexy curve of his lopsided grin and the way his eyes crease up, his brown eyes. She nearly melts in them. No emotional attachments though, right? That's what Stacie told her when she introduced her to the business. His hair is brown, slightly curly and she really wants to wrap her fingers in it, tug at it. His lips are plump, ready and waiting to be kissed. But kissing is not aloud either. That's too much, too personal.

"Nice car, it's sexy as hell," she adds, smiling at him. He chuckles, those dimples are getting to her.

"Yeah, I know. How much is it then?" He's a bit awkward, and she doesn't blame him. A man paying for sex, as hot as he is? He could go into a club, pick up a girl or even his girlfriend because he's bound to have one. Just look at him. And the car, and the suit, and the dimples. "Depends on what you want and how much are you willing to give?" She smirks, making him put across his price.

He reaches into his pocket, grabbing his wallet and pulls out a $50 bill, waving it to her. She grins and opens the car door, sliding in. Beca takes to offered amount of money and he asks her the most obscene, strange question she's ever been asked in this sort of situation.

"I'll give you more after." She nods.

"Can I have directions?" Directions? What? Why directions?

"Sure, where to? I'll take you there," she says with a smirk.

"Urm, the Hardford Hotel." God, his voice is sexy. So smooth, but a little shaky.

"Drive up this road, about 5 minutes, then turn right, then left, then park, did you get that?" She looks at him and he quickly nods, repeating the directions.

"So...You're obviously rich, eh," she remarks, watching his suit jacket crease when his arms tense. He chuckles, "Nope, poor actually," his tone is dripping with sarcasm and her face drops, feeling quite offended by his answer, she changes the subject.

"You must sweep your girlfriend off her feet with all your money then." His eyebrows raise and he laughs, "Oh, I don't have a girlfriend. Or wife, for that matter," he adds, carefully stopping at a red light.

The man glances over at her, he takes her in. Her hair is...blonde, she's thin, small, blue eyes. She'll do, just for the night. That's it. That's what prostitutes are for, yeah?

Only for the night.

"You know what," she ends the silence, butting in.

"What?" He smiles.

The loud smacking of her bubblegum is the only noise in the car apart from the loud engine, which is only lightly heard. She's thinking of how to phrase her next statement, taking her time, lengthening the pregnant pause.

"I reckon you're lawyer." He grins, because she's completely wrong.

"Why's that then?" Again, more bubblegum smacking.

"Well, you've got this fancy car, fancy suit, fancy money and it's the way about you," she says. "Oh, and also, you don't have a girlfriend. You don't have enough time for one." He laughs at her conclusion.

"I score movies."

Her nose scrunches up, her eyebrows crease and in all, she seems slightly disgusted.

Movies make her feel like that?

Wow.

"Movies?" She questions him, there's a tone of uncertainty.

"Yes, movies. I love bringing people to tears, blow their minds. Only music can do that, you know?"

"No." Is her reply. His eyebrows shoot up.

"What do you mean, no? Movies are like amazing." Her nose scrunches up further. She shakes her head at him, a slight smile. This ones a dork. Probably has Star Wars memorabilia in his bedroom. Now _that,_ is why he doesn't have a girlfriend.

"You're a dork."

"Yeah, I am, and so are you, but you're avoiding the question. Once again, she shakes her head, a small smile playing up at the corners of her lips.

"I don't like them, not my fault."

He takes in the reply and his face changes to a state of pure horror.

"B-but," he stutters, in search of words, "not liking movies is like not liking puppies!"

She nearly laughs out loud.

"I get bored and never make it to the end." Wow, didn't that sound like an innuendo.

His face drops even more. His voice nearly into a whisper.

"The endings are the best part!" This one really is a dork.

"You know, right now I'm questioning your sexuality. I'm sorry if you got me mixed up for a man, but you're totally feminine. Like, wow. I know a few dudes who could help you out instead of me. I have tits, and last time I checked, a vagina, so..."

"Really nice, urm, what's your name?"

"What do ya want it to be?" She winks and turns away. A grin is appearing on his face, "I'm being serious, what's your name? Your real name." He looks down at her, waiting for a response. A truthful one.

She huffs, but answers. "Beca, my name's Beca. How 'bout you? What's your name, dork?" Dork?

"I might be a dork, but you're a weirdo, so it works both ways Becky." She nearly dies of embarrassment of the name Becky.

"Don't you ever again call me _that _again_."_ The last word is drawled out with such a spitefulness he's suddenly quite afraid of her. That's when he notices the ear spike.

"My name's Jesse, and that's one amazingly scary ear spike you got going on there, _Beca_." He corrects himself, smirking a little.

"Jesse? Isn't that a girls name?" He sighs, because that's what he's got from nearly every single fucking person he's met.

"Do I have a vagina? No." She's taken aback from his sudden outburst. How could a dork get so angry about a girlish name.

She throws her hands up in a surrending manner.

"Sorry, nerd." He pulls up outside of a hotel she's never stepped foot inside of and her breath is taken away. Girls like her don't go to places like this, even if they do go to other, less, fancy hotel's for a paid night of sex. They're never like this. These have tall men in red standing outside, nodding and smiling friendly to people who are smartly dress. Unlike herself.

Beca puts on a face that is unreadable, makes her look uninterested, not bothered, because that's what she's had to do for the whole half of her life.

**You like it? Review!**

**~Amazingly Scary Ear Spike**


	2. Chapter 2

**Really good response so far, thank you everyone! **

**Can I also say, I made up street names, hotel names and other things. Just to clear that. I also don't own Pitch Perfect or Pretty Woman, I've just put my own spin on it.**

_"Sorry, nerd." He pulls up outside of a hotel she's never stepped foot inside of and her breath is taken away. Girls like her don't go to places like this, even if they do go to other, less, fancy hotel's for a paid night of sex. They're never like this. These have tall men in red standing outside, nodding and smiling friendly to people who are smartly dress. Unlike herself. _

_Beca puts on a face that is unreadable, makes her look uninterested, not bothered, because that's what she's had to do for the whole half of her life. _

Beca followed Jesse in and is now confronted by many disapproving looks from people. Posh, stuck up, suit-y, prude-y people. They look down their noses at her, turned them up after shooting her a disgusting look, nudging their husband's as they do so. It pissed Beca off, but she's ignoring it. She knew she wasn't exactly dressed for a snooty place like this, unless you call a tiny little blue dress with slits in the sides appropriate. Not to forget the heels. Yeah, black, massively huge heels that she stalked around in.

Jesse, who was also receiving dirty looks felt for Beca. He'd literally just dragged her into one of the best hotels in L.A. with her dressed in next to nothing and now she had to deal with the many looks and eyebrow raises in the place. He grabs her manicured hand, and walks over to the lift, pressing the button and waiting for the bellboy to welcome them in. Once he does, dressed in a red, much like the others in the hotel, he kindly asks for the floor number. While this is going on, Beca nearly runs into the lift and exclaims "This has a couch and everything! Oh my god, I could totally get used to this shit." An elderly couple, another posh, stuck up couple turn to each other, their eyeballs bulging. Jesse nearly laughs, she's doing this on purpose. She's being sarcastic, she's taking the piss out of him. And, to be quite honest, he really doesn't care if she's showing him up, it's a hell of a lot of fun.

"First time in a lift," he explains and the man nods, his wife remaining unpleasant. Beca's smirking at him, and she pulls him in the lift by the tie and smiles at the bellboy. The old couple outside the lift both cough and wait, apparently not needing the lift too much anymore. Beca drags him closer to her and nibbles on his neck, making the young man in red feel slightly uncomfortable. She whispers in his ear, loud enough for the boy to hear, "If you're not careful, I might just let you take me in here, so let's get up to the suite quickly, baby." Jesse will admit that those words have affected him. She trails her hand down his chest, his abs and then to the belt of his trousers, tight skinny trousers that are so hot. She moves her hand lower, smirking as she does so and palms him in his most intimate areas. He groans and removes her hand.

"Penthouse," the man brightly says and Beca mocks him while looking at Jesse.

"Oooh, _**Penthouse**_," She repeats, walking out of the lift. She continues to chew her gum, making the smacking, irritating sound. Jesse follows her out of the lift, sending the bellboy a smile.

This is it. It's time for her to be used.

That's exactly what this is. He swipes a card through the door and it opens, revealing a huge room, that she's sure leads to others. The bellboy pokes his head out of the lift before going down and grins at the madness.

"Wow," she nearly whispers to the room. He nods and smiles. Well, this is it. He's going to fuck her and dump her now. That's what she's used to, been taught to know. She smiles at her feet and feels the squishy feeling of her toes being killed by her heels so she toes them off, wriggling them around. Relief.

"Impressed?" He asks her but she shakes her head.

"You kidding me? I come here _**all**_ the time," she states, "As matter of fact, they do rent this room by the hour." He walks past her, putting some sort of document on the nearest, wooden table. Probably expensive mahogany.

"Sure they do," He says to her as he clicks on a lamp.

Beca walks out onto the balcony, of course there would be one. It's big too, bigger than hers which holds a few plant pots of Stacie's.

"Wooooooow," she holds out, "Great view. I bet you can see all the way to the ocean from here."

He doesn't look up from the paper but as she walks in she can tell he looks queasy, "I'll take your word for it," he continues to scan over papers, "But I don't go out there."

She looks at him and softly asks "Why don't you go out there."

Jesse glances up at her "I'm afraid of heights," she nearly laughs.

"So, you're afraid of heights but you have the penthouse suite?" She questions, "Hardly makes sense, don'tcha think?"

"It's the best, and besides I've looked for a penthouse on the first floor but I can't find one," He jokes, but she doesn't laugh. She shruggs off her jacket and puts it on the rich leather sofa.

He glances at her and smiles. She smiles back.

"So," she coughs, grabbing his attention, "now you have me here, what _**are **_you gunna do with me?" He's taken a back. He shakes his head, and frowns.

"Let's get some champagne and watch a film, you need a movication and I'm gunna give it to you." She opens her mouth, then closes it in disbelief.

"What? That's not the point of _**this**_," she whisper shouts, "You do know what I do, right?!"

"I didn't exactly plan this, last minute you know." She walks over to where he's sitting and ignores his movie comment.

Beca sits on the table and pulls 5 foil packets out of her bra.

"I got a red one, a blue one, a pink one, no wait, two pink ones and a green one but I've run out of yellow." She shows him the packets and holds them like a magician splaying out cards for a show. "Oh! But I do have one golden coin left, the condom of champions, the one and only," she rushes, "_**Nothing **_is getting through this sucker."

She watches him watch her, probably expecting her to be out of breath or something.

"What do 'ya say, hmm?" She concludes, letting him decide on which latex to use.

"Into safety?" He grins.

She shrugs her shoulders, "What can I say? I'm a safety girl." Beca waves the foil packets around in front of his face

He grins, "E.T," He carries on, "It's on my to do list with you, I have list of films, The Breakfast Club, Rocky, Jaws, the classics. They have the best scores."

She quirks an eyebrow, "You're back to the movie thing? You're so lucky you haven't rented this room by the hour." She shakes her head at him but he grins a pearly white grin.

"You wanna ring room service?" She lets this sink in and nods because food is food and she my be small but she loves food. He walks over to the hotel phone and rings the number on the side, ordering popcorn and a random selection of Italian dishes.

She doesn't know why he's doing this. He's not supposed to do this. It's frustrating Beca because she doesn't know what the hell is going on. Does she make the first move? Does she go in for the kill, and fuck his 'movication', his food and his sweetness.

God, what is she? A teenager? For Christ's sake Beca, get your shit together.

She plays with a string on her bag strap and pulls it, letting the thread come out a bit. The cheap fabric pulls apart a little more. It's funny, it's like her life. Slowly falling apart, broken and damaged. She is damaged, and broken and she's falling apart. She's a mess. She frowns, coming to an understanding of her life. She understands that this is what she'll be doing for most of her life. Her fucked up life.

There's another awkward silence for her, but she takes in the room a bit more. There's a piano, huge sofa with a television, even the carpet seems fresh and fluffy. She decides she likes it here. But, hang on. It's not hers to like. Her frown drops, realising she'll never be able to experience this in her life because she's a corner girl. A street lamp girl, and night time girl. Whatever girl she is, she isn't the girl she'd like to be. It kills her. Kills her heart, her soul, her life. She closes her eyes and thinks about herself being a music producer, being happy, wealthy. She inwardly laughs, like that's going to happen.

Even if she was fetching coffee for her boss in a small studio, she's be much happier than this. She missing the crackling sound of an old record, misses making her mixes, misses music in general. Sometimes, she goes down town and spends hours in the tiny, dark radio station. She thumbs all the record spines, inhaling the old, musical scent. That's usually every Wednesday. She's off shift then, you see. Even if she can't afford a record, she can still look at them right? She loves the sleeve covers, the art. It's different to a basic CD. It's colourful, it's art. It's beautiful to her. And the silky blackness of the round object. It fills her with glee, excitement and contentment. The owner knows who she is and amazingly, he doesn't judge her like most people do. She always greets her with a happy nod and lets her to look at the music. He knows she can't afford it, but he can see her passion. In her eyes. It's there and he can't stop that, he wouldn't.

Jesse shrugs off his jacket, throwing it over the clean, soft sofa. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and undo's the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt at an agonising pace. A matching white, wife beater is revealed to her and she can see the muscle on his chest, and his arms, wow.

Beca, stop it! Stop admiring him like you're a thirteen love sick girl. He's just a..._client._

He sits down and bends over to untie his shoe laces, the back muscles rippling with effect. She's slowly melting. His body is amazing and she notes that. His shoes are slipped off but he leaves his socks on. Probably best, feet are disgusting in her opinion. He acknowledges her, and offers a comforting smile. She, of course smiles back. It's too hard not to.

She takes off her small black leather jacket and puts it on a hook. She's about to step down to the living room area when the door knocks. Should she answer it? Beca points to herself "Me?" she questions him and he nods, but she doesn't smile back. He's so endeared by her. Her sarcastic, witty remarks have drawn him in. That's why he's dragging tonight out. He doesn't want to just fuck her and let her go. He likes her.

Beca answers the door and another man in red appears with a trolley with what appears to be a bottle of champagne, two glasses and a plate of strawberry's. She stands there, waiting for the man to leave. She nods at him, tries everything but he seems persistent. What's with these people? Do they always wait around like this?

Finally, Jesse comes to her rescue and hands him some money. The man leaves, sending Jesse a grin and a thumbs up.

"Tip," he explains to her once the man has left and beckons her to him and he plonks down onto the sofa. Beca picks up the bowl of popcorn and the Italian food platter that she's questioning and places them down on the glass table in front of the sofa. She sits beside him and sighs.

"Well, isn't this cheesy," she mocks, gesturing to the popcorn and the fancy cuisine. He smiles that huge smile at her "You see, Beca, I'm into movies. I like cheesy." She shakes her head, really not getting him.

"Dork," she say back, shooting him a glare.

He picks up the remote on the glass, shiny table and scrolls through the movie list, finding E.T.

"Aha," he exclaims gesturing to the screen loudly with his hands. His hands move like jazz hands and she glares pointedly at his campness. Beca somehow manages to start watching the film on the huge plasma. She doesn't enjoy the film, but she watches it. Well, maybe she had a little wet eye at the ending as the alien rode off into the midnight sky back to his home. Jesse didn't see this though as she was laying on the floor, her head resting in her hands and her legs up and crossed in the air.

Her blonde hair is tumbling around her, framing her face and she composes herself before turning to an equally emotional Jesse. _**God, this guy really is a huge dork.**_ He rubs his hands together and grins, no in a 'come here now lets fuck way' but in a nerdy 'wasn't that film fucking awesome' way.

"So," he drags it out like an excited 7 year old, "what did you think?" She chews her lip and looks down at her lap. Her eyelashes flutter back to him. She keeps a straight face.

"It was okay, I guess." Jesse's face drops.

"You guess? How can you guess? Did you even listen to the score?"

"I was too busy watching the pervy alien thing going on to notice the music," she shoots back. He shakes his head and looks at her deadly serious.

He watches her in shock, "Ooh c'mon dude! He was hiding in their closet! Their _**closet! **_That is perv to another level," She finishes with a bored face.

"You need to learn to appreciate _**this**_," he gestures to the screen. Her mind flicks back to the reason she's here. She's here to please. That's what she does, Beca reminds herself. Her eyes close and she takes in a big breath and lets it out in a deep sigh, knowing that this is all they want her for.

Jesse, who is currently searching for another film is quite shocked to see Beca in-between his knees, her hands resting on his thighs. She smiles at him gently and he smiles back. She tries to make him feel more at ease with the situation. He rests into the sofa, his shoulders slumping, his whole body relaxing into it, into her.

"So, what do you want me to do?" She asks him, rubbing soft circles on his upper thigh with her thumb. This is weird for her. A man's never invited her back, treated her so _**well**_ for this type of job. They just get it over with. They do it quick, not caring about her, but Jesse, well, Jesse does care about her. He's questioning himself why, because he really doesn't know. She's just a prostitute, he tells him self repeatedly.

"What can you do?" She smiles to herself and unzips his fly, taking in his plaid briefs, placing a hand over him.

"Everything," she merely whispers to him before placing feather light kisses all over his thighs and soon to be other places.


	3. Chapter 3

**Just wanted to let ya'll know before you read on, I've edited the last chapter a bit more so it's more to the film for you. Please read it as it will help for future chapters to make more sense!**

_So, what do you want me to do?" She asks him, rubbing soft circles on his upper thigh with her thumb. This is weird for her. A man's never invited her back, treated her so __**well**__ for this type of job. They just get it over with. They do it quick, not caring about her, but Jesse, well, Jesse does care about her. He's questioning himself why, because he really doesn't know. She's just a prostitute, he tells him self repeatedly. _

_"What can you do?" She smiles to herself and unzips his fly, taking in his plaid briefs, placing a hand over him. _

_"Everything," she merely whispers to him before placing feather light kisses all over his thighs and soon to be other places. _

Jesse's eyes blink open, repeating the action again as his eyes grow accustomed the morning light in the room. He stretches out and falls back into the bed without hesitation as he closes his eyes once more, allowing the red glow from the sun to take over his vision. Jesse likes this. Laying in bed, not having to worry about deadlines or meetings, which he always had. Still has but, for once, he was going to put himself first, not his work and that took a lot of effort. He relished the feeling however, enjoyed it as the warm, morning sun, gleefully attacks his skin.

Ever since a young age, Jesse Swanson loved to be up early. He found that if he got up early his day would start off better and end better. That's the way he thought about it. He still does. Usually, he'd be up at 6:30 which would give him enough time to shower, have breakfast and grab a coffee on the way to work. Better to be early than late, he mused to himself.

His mom would also wake him up early as a child, ready for school, ready for a day out, ready for the day ahead. He'd be woken up to his mother, or father, gently coaxing him with sweet nothings. "Get up, darling," they'd say to him and so he would. Never a shout, never a violent push, always happy. He'd smile a toothless grin and stretch out wide, just like a cat. His mother would ruffle his hair and laugh and he'd match her laugh with a younger giggle. Jesse would then run down to the kitchen, smell the aroma of sweet pancakes and his parents coffee and climb up high onto the breakfast bar chairs. Breakfast would be served around the rest of his family, brothers and his little sister, who he adored. He had a clichéd lifestyle as a child, which is probably why he's so _**him. **_Nerdy. Yeah, that's the word. That's the correct specification. He was, _**is,**_ nerdy. And he's a cliché. Totally a cliché.

Some would say he's a workaholic, he'd just say he's dedicated. Which he is. C'mon, part of his work encourages him to watch films over and over again. That's not that bad, right? That's hardly effort. The effort part is creating moving music, music that fits the scene, matches the person, the mood, atmosphere.

He loves his job. Loves his life but there's always something missing. He's slightly lonely. Well, not slightly, he is lonely. It's sad. He'd love to wake up to a beautiful woman sleeping peacefully next to him every morning, but that's not how it worked. It would fit his clichéd life. Of course, women throw themselves at him but what do they actually want? His money? He'd had girlfriend's over the past years but none were _**right. **_They were all too sweet and sickly and money grabbing. None of them shared a love for music or movies and that just didn't work for him. Not one bit.

They were all pretty, all had nice little bubble lives, none jagged or worn, but maybe, just maybe that's what he wants. Not that he knows it, that is. Jesse Swanson, needs someone to be his opposite. Obviously with some similarities but what's better than trying to work out a person than already know their type because there's so many of _**that**_ person.

As his morning's were usually empty, he didn't even consider the young woman on the other side of the bed, curled up in a ball, and to be quite honest, he didn't even recognise her when he looked over to that side of the bed.

Last night for Jesse was...amazing, but hang on, he didn't know who this person was in bed with him because she had..._**brown, curly hair.**_ His brow furrows at his obvious confusion. Beca had blonde hair, not brown, so who's this? He obviously didn't have another woman in, and he certainly didn't get drunk last night so everything's clear.

It must be Beca.

She stirs softly in her deep sleep, making a little string of noises which he finds oddly cute. The duvet is clutched closer to her naked chest as she lets out another sigh, the toes that are peeking out of the bottom of the bed stretch, she's almost cat like.

The rest of her body arches up, her eyes squinting as they become accustomed to the bright, morning light. He watches how her small form clings to the thin sheet, every curve, every arch visible to him. Beca groans, obviously not being a morning person.

Her one eye opens, and she arches an eyebrow at his quizzical look.

"Morning," she croaks out at him, a smile forming on her lips. Jesse grins back at her but still looks confused.

"It's a wig," She explains, nearly laughing at his confusion.

She carries on, "You know, fake bits of hair you put it o-"

"I know what a wig is, I'm not stupid, but why do you wear one?"

She sighs, "It makes me look more of a slut, which is more approachable, you know?" She truthfully answers and he respects that. His eyebrows knit together.

"I don't mean to be mean about blonde people but the bright blonde, dyed hair, you know what image it creates."

"I think you're much nicer without the wig, you're hair's curly as well." He compliments.

She laughs, "I know." A internal frown takes over her. She really doesn't like how comfortable she feels with this Jesse Swanson. They've only just met, why does she feel so relaxed and _**happy **_even. It's totally weird.

For her, that is.

Love doesn't exist. That's what she's been told, repeatedly and what she believes, not good at all. But, her feeling so right with Jesse is freaking her out, a lot.

"But, 'pretty' isn't prostitute value. This wig makes me look cheap," she shakes her head. He didn't see her like that.

"Wow," he sighs but notices the weird earring that she was wearing.

"Is that an, earspike? An amazing scary earspike." Her face was still.

"Yes," she bluntly replied as rolled over onto her belly. The tops of her breasts were on display to him which was _**extremely **_attractive for him. He internally shook himself. Last night was amazing for him. Better than amazing. What other word could replace amazing? Not many. The way she made him feel was just _**amazing. **_The word amazing fit Beca. It was just her. She's amazing, but scary as hell. He figures he likes that combination.

Jesse gets out of bed, only in boxers and picks up the blonde wig. He twirls it around his finger a few times before fixing it onto his head, and posing like a young girl. She can't help but grin at him and he smiles back with a "oh?" It was a questioning 'oh?'. Almost like he was trying to earn a laugh out of the mystery that is Beca Mitchell.

He throws the wig on the nearest chair and stumbles to the bathroom, ready for a shower.

"Stop checking my ass out," He shouts and she laughs "I wasn't," which is a complete lie. It was a nice ass though. You couldn't lie about that.

She jumps out of bed once he's gone to shower and decides to take a proper look around, see where this weirdo of a person spends his time. She closes her eyes for a few longer seconds and opens them. blue and curious. Beca slips out of bed, completely naked and throws on his shirt from the night before, slipping it over her shoulders. She walks over to the window as she buttons it up and opens the curtains, greeted by sunny L.A.

It makes her smile. The busy roads, the men dressed in red suits down on the street below, helping the women with their bags and smiling at the children who were so privileged to stay the night. She wonders if they'll carry out her bag like that and wave her off when she leaves this suite.

Probably not.

She puts her _**brown **_hair behind her ear and walks off around the house. She walks around, a dining room, a closet, a utility room, and another bathroom are found. She takes joy in finding a bathroom and she opens the door to glorious, white, clean tiles and fresh, fluffy towels. Beca closes the door behind her and slips off the shirt and turns up the dial for the shower. She puts it on full heat because hot showers are perfection, and this early? Even better. They wake her up and that she needs Beca is _**not **_a morning person.

The liquid comes out in a hot burst and it soothes her skin, turns it a slight pink but she closes her eyes and hums a little tune. She grabs the shampoo and pours a glob into her hand and then pats it on top of her messy curls. Beca rubs in the shampoo, basically giving herself a massage and she tilts her head back into the hot stream. The water pours off of her and takes the bubbles with it as it swirls down the drain.

She allows the water to spray over her face and down her body, she takes it all in. Last night. Jesse's been so gentlemanly towards her and it makes her frown. She shouldn't be treated like that. She shouldn't have been loved like that, she's there for a night, and that's all...

Why? Well, she'll never fully tell her past, an definitely not to a stranger she met just yesterday.

_**Review? And, sorry it's late, I really am. **_


End file.
